


Right Place, Wrong Time

by Moit



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Human Scott McCall, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 16:32:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moit/pseuds/Moit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Derek killed Peter after he found out his uncle killed Laura and then began building his own pack. He wants Scott McCall, but bites Stiles Stilinski instead. Stiles is Not Happy about becoming a werewolf. </p><p>For what it's worth, the Argents also never moved to town, and I don't think they are going to. They just don't have anything to do with this particular story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Place, Wrong Time

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, folks. This fic is going to be a one-shot. The idea petered out, which is why it sat unfinished for a year. This is all we get. 
> 
> Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy(ed) it. Thanks for reading.

The night Stiles got bitten Scott nearly died of an asthma attack. In all the excitement of finding a dead body, the herd of deer, and the sounds of the Sheriff and his deputies getting closer, Scott’s inhaler was lost among the leaves. Had it not been for the attack, actually, Scott probably would have died. It drew enough attention to them that Stiles’ father was able to get him to an ambulance and save the lecture for later.

Back home in his room, Stiles peeled away the layers of his shirts with a hiss. Sure enough, an angry wound marred the flesh of his side. He made his way carefully to the bathroom and bandaged himself after cleaning the cuts with peroxide. It burnt like hell, and he was worried he might need stitches, but the last thing he wanted to do was anger his father further. With luck, it would heal on its own.

*

Stiles met up with Scott as his friend was getting off the school bus the next morning. “Hey dude, you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Scott rolled his eyes. “They kept me on a nebulizer for about an hour and then sent me home with a new inhaler. My mom totally freaked, though. How about you? How was your dad?” He looked around and lowered his voice. “How’s the bite?”

“About that . . .” Stiles yanked him into the nearest bathroom and checked all the stalls to make sure they were alone. “It’s gone,” he said, rolling up the fabric of his shirts to show Scott the smooth skin beneath.

“No way,” Scott said softly, gliding his fingertips over Stiles’ side. “But you got bit. I saw the wolf. I saw the blood.”

“Dude, I know, okay?” Stiles said, pacing nervously as he chewed his fingernails to the quick. “I definitely got bit, but it wasn’t a wolf. There are no wolves in California.”

“So what do you think it is, then?”

“I don’t know.” Stiles set his lips in a firm, straight line. His mind was going 100 miles an hour with possibilities, but he didn’t want to say anything out loud to Scott.

Without any more ideas, they headed to homeroom. The halls were still crowded and Stiles hadn’t even stopped by his locker yet. He caught sight of Lydia Martin—the love of his life since seventh grade—and did a double-take. Instead of being surrounded by her usual female entourage, she was talking to Erica Reyes, a girl who, until now, had just sort of blended into the shadows. This new and improved Erica looked like she could give Lydia a run for her money. With long blonde curls and crimson lips, she sauntered through the hallway like Beacon Hills’ collective wet-dream-cum-reality.

“Is it just me or did Erica Reyes get ridiculously hot this summer?” Stiles drawled, uncaring of the way his mouth hung open.

Scott spared the girls a glance. “I guess,” he said, shrugging one shoulder.

“You guess? What, are you suddenly into guys or something?”

“I’m not gay. I just . . . don’t like girls who are all painted up like that. I like girls who are real.”

“But those are real girls,” Stiles insisted, staring pointedly at them. “Real, live, in the flesh girls. Not like Rosie Palmer and her five sisters. Come on, man, live a little.” He punched Scott’s arm for emphasis.

“Ow, dude, what the hell was that for?” Scott asked, clutching his bicep.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “You get hit harder than that in lacrosse. You hit me harder than that in lacrosse.”

Scott scowled and slammed his locker shut.

“Okay,” Stiles muttered. “I guess someone skipped their Wheaties this morning.” He trudged into homeroom, mentally preparing himself for a disastrous first day of his sophomore year at Beacon Hills High.

*

As usual, Stiles was the last person in the locker room before lacrosse practice. Harris deliberately held him later than everyone else because it seemed like his sole mission was to make Stiles’ life miserable. His reasoning this time was an accusation that Stiles had been cheating on their pop quiz, but when he forced Harris to admit he got the highest grade in the class, his Chemistry teacher let him go without a fight.

Grabbing his stick, Stiles headed for the doorway, only to find Boyd and Isaac standing in his path. Together, they easily blocked the exit to the locker room. Stiles tried unsuccessfully to push past them.

“Excuse me, guys.” He attempted to keep his tone even, but it still belied the anxiety bubbling under the surface.

“You need to come with us after school,” Boyd said, using his bulk to physically push Stiles back.

“For what? So you can steal my milk money? I don’t think so.” He tried again to leave, but Isaac pressed a hand to the middle of his chest. Stiles gulped nervously, looking from him to Boyd. Finally realizing he had no choice (or at least, no way out) he hung his head. “But I better be home in time for dinner. My dad is making meatloaf.” He pushed his way between his teammates, mentally reminding himself to chill the fuck out.

Outside, the rest of the lacrosse team was gathered around Coach for the usual pre-season pep talk and instructions for practice. Like always, Danny was in goal and Jackson played center. Stiles didn’t expect it to turn out any different, but just once he wanted to do something other than ride the bench with Scott and Greenberg. What did surprise him was that Isaac and Boyd were given starting positions on either side of Jackson. It seemed Erica wasn’t the only one who improved her physical and social status over the summer.

Coach blew his whistle and Stiles slapped his hands to his ears in an effort to block out the noise. It sounded like an atomic bomb had gone off inside his head and he was now the victim of an instant, throbbing migraine.

“Bilinski!”

He could hear Coach calling his name as he stumbled to his knees. It was like all of his senses had suddenly kicked into overdrive. Too many ounds flooded his senses: people chattering, horns honking, smell the dirty laundry in the locker room, and he could read even the smallest print on the some of his teammates’ gear from several yards away.

“McCall, what the hell is wrong with Bilinski?”

“I don’t know, Coach,” Scott said, kneeling down next to his friend. “Dude, are you okay?”

“Nurse’s office,” Stiles managed to ground out as Scott helped him to his feet.

Coach gave them a calculating look. “All right, nothing to see here! Everyone, back to work! Give me five laps around the field! Greenberg, you give me six! You need to work off some of the weight you gained over the summer.”

Neither Scott nor Stiles were aware of the extra eyes that followed them off the field.

*

Derek Hale paced the shell of his family house as he waited for his betas to return. This was one of the times he had come to regret biting a bunch of teenagers in the first place; unfortunately, there was no turning back now. Having dealt with Erica, Boyd, and Isaac during each of their first full moons, he was more than equipped to handle Stiles. Since nobody drove out to the old Hale property anymore (after Derek began scaring away the curious teenagers with his alpha form, at least) it was the perfect place to begin teaching the new kid how to control his wolf. The chains in what was left of the living room were no joke. Derek had installed them himself with the express purpose of containing a new beta. His family had employed a much more holistic approach, but without the benefit of many more experienced pack members, the chains would have to do.

The door opened and his wolves strolled in, laughing at what Derek could only assume was inane high school drama he cared nothing about.

“This is him?” he said, giving Stiles a quick once-over.

Erica looked like she wanted to say “I told you so,” but wisely kept quiet.

“What do you mean, ‘Is this him?’ I wasn’t exactly all ‘Take me to your leader.’ And you, you’re Derek Hale. Why are you suddenly playing evil super-villain with a bunch of teenagers, Derek Hale?”

Derek narrowed his eyes. “Not that I owe you an explanation, but it was your friend Scott I was really after. You just got in the way.”

Erica gave him a feral grin. “It’s not so bad, little one. We’ll take good care of you.”

Stiles backed away—directly into Isaac.

“Easy,” the other boy said softly. “We’re not going to hurt you. You’re one of us, now.”

Derek gave Erica a sideways glance. “What did you say his name was, again?”

“This is insane,” Stiles exploded. “You can’t go around Beacon Hills intimidating teenagers and trying to convince them they’re . . .” Suddenly, he was looking at four furry fanged creatures. “Werewolves?”

Derek shifted back, prompting the betas to do the same. “Now do you believe me? The full moon is tonight, and you’ll need to be here with us if you want to stay safe.”

“I’m not going to turn into some blood-thirsty animal, am I?” Stiles joked, but when he received blank stares in response, his eyes widened comically. “Oh, my god, I am!”

“You just need to learn to control your wolf.”

“Like you controlled yours when you mutilated that girl Scott and I found in the woods? Or, well, what was left of her, anyway. I can see why they never solved the Black Dahlia murder: cops can’t exactly write down ‘werewolf’ as the cause of death.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Derek felt a headache coming on. He knew this one was going to be trouble, knew he’d gotten the wrong one from the moment he bit him, but unless he wanted to cull the numbers of his already modest pack, the kid would have to stay. Derek just hoped that in time Stiles would learn to channel his energy into something useful.

The kid looked down at the chains on the floor and back at Derek. “Good one, Dr. Evil. I almost fell for it.”

Derek narrowed his eyes. This one was really trying his patience. “Fine,” he ground out. “If you want to run through Beacon Hills terrorizing the town and eating your friends, be my guest. Just don’t come crying to me when they throw you in a laboratory for experimentation until they let the hunters execute you.”

“Hunters?” Stiles said meekly, nudging at one of the manacles with the toe of his sneaker.

“Werewolf hunters. If they catch wind of you, they will hunt you down and kill you and nobody will ever know because they are just as good at staying hidden as we are. Now, will you take my advice and let me chain you up willingly, or do I need to have Isaac and Boyd hold you down?”

“I don’t get a third choice that involves maiming and killing you?”

Derek growled low in his throat.

“Kidding!” Stiles said, holding his palms up in supplication. He allowed Derek to shackle his wrists and ankles to the bolts in the floor.

“You might want to gag him, too,” Boyd smirked, looking down at Stiles.

The newest beta opened his mouth to retort, but Derek silenced him with a sharp look. “Get out of here,” he told his other betas. “I don’t want to see you again until dawn.”

They disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Stiles regarded Derek warily. Every time he moved, the chains rattled. “So, are you going to, like—”

“No,” Derek said without allowing the teenager to finish. “I’m here to make sure you survive. That’s it.”

Stiles was quiet for almost thirty seconds before he opened his mouth again. This time, Derek gritted is teeth and let the boy talk. “I’m glad it was me, you know. Scott never could have handled this. He would be completely freaked out by now.”

Derek paced in front of him like a caged tiger.

“I guess it sucks that you have to deal with me, then, doesn’t it? Look, I promise that as soon as I learn how to control myself,” he lifted his shackled wrists and sent the chains singing again, “I’ll be out of your hair.”

Derek’s response was a low, humorless laugh. He came to a stop in front of Stiles. So this kid really had no idea what he’d gotten himself into. He leaned down so that they were nearly nose-to-nose. Time to be the bad Alpha. “This isn’t a one-time thing, Stiles. I’m going to teach you how to control yourself and you’re going to become part of my pack.”

Stiles looked like he wanted to argue, but wisely stayed silent.

Derek settled himself comfortable against one wall. Now, all they had to do was wait. For Derek, it was also a matter of trying to force back memories of his family.

*

By the time the moon rose, Stiles was nearly vibrating with nervous energy and the supernatural force boiling beneath his skin. He would have preferred to run hot laps around the living room, or at least that was what his body felt like. All at once, he was on fire. He clawed desperately at the neck of his t-shirt, trying to escape the heat.

He dimly recognized Derek’s voice saying, “It’s starting.”

As quickly as the feeling came, it receded, leaving behind even sharper sense and a thirst that thrummed beneath his veins. Stiles threw his head back and howled, an inhuman sound that came from the throat of his wolf. Three distinct calls answered him and he acknowledged them instinctively as his pack. His wolf wanted to jump up and run, but the chains held him back.

Stiles bared his jaws at the fetters, growling in frustration. An answering growl resounded next to him, and he looked up into the red eyes of his Alpha. Sufficiently cowed, he shrank back, accepting defeat. He tested the limits of his boundaries several times under Derek’s watchful eye, but the Alpha’s presence (and the chains) were enough to keep him contained for the night.

By the time dawn began to peak over the edge of the horizon, Stiles’ wolf had settled down enough to let him shift back to human.

“How do you survive without shifting?” he asked Derek, who was sitting with his back against the wall watching him.

“Practice,” was all Derek said.

The other betas stumbled into the house only when the first rays of sunlight were streaming across the bare room, proof that the moon had given up her hold over them.

“Are we having fun?” Erica asked, regarding Stiles with a snide smile.

“Oh, loads,” he said, shaking the chains on his wrists for good measure. “Do you think you could unshackle me now? The urge to rip your throat out has mostly passed.”

Derek rolled his eyes, but freed Stiles nonetheless.

“Well, as much of a pleasure as this has been, I’d better get going.” The newest beta headed for the door as quickly as possible without actually running.

“We’re having a pack meeting Monday night,” Derek said, the sound of his voice stopping Stiles in his tracks. “I expect to see you there.”

“Sure,” Stile agreed, hand on the doorknob.

“I can hear the lie in your heartbeat. Be at my apartment Monday night, or you will not like what happens when I find you.”

His gulp was loud enough for all of them to hear without supernatural senses. Maybe it would have been better if the bite just killed him. 


End file.
